‘Nah, I reckon those Muggle doctors butchered her up and put plastic in her, it’s what my mum says, anyway.’

Several hoots of hushed laughter.

‘Like that’s even possible. Plastic? Come on, pull the other one.’

‘I bloody swear, it’s true!’

I rolled my eyes, back stiff and neck burning. I didn’t need to be part of the conversation to know what those testosterone-choked boys in front of me were talking about. Namely,

Yes, they were in front of me.

In a DADA class.

This is the very first time the boys have sat willingly in front of me. In fact, for as long as I can remember, the girls have always preferred to sit somewhere in front, while the boys cluster at the back. They’re even listening attentively to what the new professor has to say. Every single female in this class has a sort of irritated and annoyed look on their faces - but neither one of us are surprised.

Let me explain: we have a new professor. She’s young, she’s blonde, and she has one of the most enormous chests I’ve ever seen.

They’re so large they’re almost indecent.

The ones lucky enough (hah! If you have a Y-chromosome, that is) sitting in front practically have their tongues lolling out.

All us girls are pissed.

To be fair, the new professor - Professor Valencia - looks rather embarrassed about this. She’s worn a turtleneck but they still bulge. She tries not to stick it out too much. I’m guessing she’s aware that most of the boys are only sitting in front because of her.

Stupid boys. Can’t they ever think about something other than sex?

To my revulsion, even my innocent (or so I thought), untainted cousin, Albus Sev, had a dazed, hazy expression on his face. He was absent-mindedly chewing his quill, leaving a rather unflattering streak of red ink across his cheek and staining his teeth.

So, all in all, it was approximately 8.23 a.m. on a beautiful Monday morning, on the first day of my fifth year in Hogwarts, and our new DADA professor didn’t seem very promising.

‘Never knew you swung that way, Elisha.’ Dobby Longbottom - rather freckly, gangly, wispy blonde hair - our Herbology teacher’s very weirdly-named son (and I thought Albus Severus was bad), named after some bloody dead elf his dad liked a lot, effortlessly cut into our conversation by turning around and grinning his head off.

‘You know what I mean.’ Elisha said, pushing her brown hair behind her ears. ‘It’s like two sodding rocks that simultaneously attached themselves to her chest, there’s no way that could be natural.’

‘I notice you’re the only one who’s not staring.’ I commented, but I already knew why. Ever since ol’ Dobby got together with a certain fourth year named Auster Billington last year, she’s become the only girl in his life. I personally think Auster is a silly little bint and that Dobby would be better off with a more sensible girl, but who am I to talk? I have absolutely zero experience in these frivolous matters of love.

‘Professor Valencia has nothing on Auster.’ Dobby grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling. ‘Even if she has enormous kno--’

‘Alright, class!’ said professor clapped her hands together, attempting to draw attention away from her chest area. An attempt which failed miserably. ‘Everyone line up in a row!’ with a flick of her unusually long wand, our desks and chairs slid cheerfully to both sides of the class, leaving the middle empty. We unenthusiastically shuffled into a line, muttering. I stumbled on the hem of my robes and accidentally hit someone on the neck with my flailing arms.

‘Ack, sorry.’ I apologized hastily. The girl simply nodded at me in a friendly way. I figure it’s because they’re all already used to my tripping and potentially fatal accidents. I fell into line, Elisha behind me. Needless to say, the overeager boys jostled past us girls and fought over who would get the best view. I’d prepared myself for a dodder of a lesson. I wasn’t very hopeful; younger professors like Professor Valencia were pretty inexperienced.

She strode over and lugged out an antique cupboard that was rattling ominously. ‘Boggarts!’

The entire class let out a silent groan. We’d already dealt with Boggarts last year.

‘We’ve already dealt with Boggarts last year, professor.’ my hand shot up at its own accord. I kind of hate how that happens. It’s like there’s this invisible spring that goes off every time I hear a question I know the answer to. It’s a knee-jerk reaction.

Professor Valencia’s pretty face scrunched up in worry. Then the lines smoothened out again. ‘Well, a second time wouldn’t hurt, right?’

My hand slithered down.

‘How bloody boring.’ Elisha whispered from beside me. ‘It’s our OWL year and McGonagall lumps us with this airhead?’

‘I know!’ I muttered back. We weren’t the only disgruntled ones.

‘I knew I should’ve just skipped.’ Fred Weasley - fellow Gryffindor, son of Uncle George Weasley and Aunt Angelina, skin a delightful mocha brown - shuffled up behind us. ‘I could’ve finished up that monstrosity of a Potions essay.’

‘Alright, everybody ready?’ Professor Valencia seemed genuinely excited. ‘Now, if you’ve been listening to what I’ve been telling you lot just now --’

‘Fat chance.’ Elisha snorted. I privately agreed.

‘--you should be able to deflect an attacking Boggart effectively and swiftly.’ Professor Valencia pushed her spectacles up her nose and placed her hands on her hips. ‘Right, is everyone ready? Hoyt, you first!’

A buff boy from Ravenclaw strode in front, chest puffed out and obviously ready to impress. What a git. His wand was pointed at the cupboard, which was almost toppling over now.

‘One, two, three!’ Professor Valencia promptly popped open the gold lock on the cupboard door, and the Boggart burst out.

This is the part where it gets rather interesting. I kind of like knowing what everyone is most afraid of. I don’t even know what mine would be. Last year, it was the dark. When it was my turn, the whole classroom went pitch-black and I couldn’t make a sound. It was pretty embarrassing, to be honest. Though this girl from my year, Emilia Hart, had it far worse. When it was her turn, the Boggart turned into her own mother. Scary.

Back to Hoyt: the Boggart turned into this bloody corpse on the ground. Almost leisurely, he “Ridikkulus”-ed it and it climbed up grotesquely and started to tap dance. Several people laughed, Professor Valencia included. ‘Right, next!’

Hoyt strutted away, smirking. ‘Kitsch!’ Professor Valencia motioned, and said Boggart immediately morphed into a single beating heart on the ground. The boy - Kitsch - winced a little and waved his wand. ‘Ridikkulus!’ the heart exploded showered sweets everywhere.

‘Excellent, excellent!’ Professor Valencia clapped Kitsch on his back, and a momentary expression of bliss crossed over his face. ‘Next, please!’

‘I dunno.’ I replied vaguely. ‘Probably overflowing the loo after I crap?’

Elisha elbowed me and we doubled over in silent laughter.

‘How about you?’ I asked, grinning. ‘Will it be a trainer bra?’

Elisha is pretty sensitive about her chest. It closely resembles my younger second-year brother, Hugo’s chest so you can’t really blame her. She’s been trying to grow all year, from dodgy Potions to wayward charms.

‘Argh, hope not.’ Elisha’s face drained of all color. ‘Shit.’

Looking back, I honestly don’t know how I could be so stupid and why I didn’t just pick up my robes and get the feck out of that stuffy DADA classroom there and then. It would’ve saved my entire life. This stupid DADA lesson will ultimately be the reason why I was standing in the middle of that Quidditch pitch, trying to convince everyone I could fly when I couldn’t even get myself off the sodding ground.

I shuffled forward. Everyone seemed to be having fun. There were only two people left until it was my turn.

If it was possible to time-travel, I’d be right there beside my present-day self, screaming RUN ROSE WEASLEY RUN WHILE YOU STILL HAVE THE CHANCE.

I took another step forward, another step closer to impending doom.

‘Alright, Weasley!’ Professor Valencia, cheeks flushed and looking positively ecstatic, gestured for me to step forward. I did so tentatively, wondering what I should do if it did turn out to be an overflowing toilet.

‘Erm.’ I said, and waited for the Boggart to whirl back into shape.

It was as if time had slowed down imperceptibly.

Then, before I knew it, I was faced with a brand-new, shiny, James-Potter-would-be-orgasmic-over-this, state-of-the-art broom.

‘What the?’ someone said, confused.

My entire face burst into flames. Well, figuratively. But it was almost as painful.

I’d better explain a little: my dad, Ronald Bilius Weasley, once played a bit for the Chudley Cannons and he was the one who propelled the Canons back to life, breaking their tradition of getting close to last for thirty-three leagues in a row. My dear brother, Hugo Weasley, is the very best Keeper our Gryffindor team has ever had ever since my dad left Hogwarts. So, naturally, people kind of expect me to be good at Quidditch as well. I cannot for the life of me understand why people assume I’m good at Quidditch, which, believe me, I’m not. Especially since I go banging into walls every few minutes or so every single day.

Okay, so I might’ve implied a few times that I don’t play Quidditch because I think it’s a waste of time and some mindless sport, therefore inferring that I can play very well if I want to but I just choose not to. Which is a great spanking porkie pie, but I didn‘t think anyone would ever find out. I figured it was way better than telling everyone I was just terrified of brooms. Not I’m-shaking-in-my-shoes terrified, more like I’m-crapping-and-pissing-simultaneously-in-my-knickers-now terrified.

And so, being the idiot I was and just casually Riddikulus-ing it into a pile of moldy twigs or whatever and saying later that the Boggart was just direly confused, I just stood there. Even the mere sight of a broomstick made my entire being freeze.

‘And to think she’s been saying that she doesn’t play because she thinks it’s stupid!’

‘I’m not!’ I finally found my voice. ‘I’m not afraid of broomsticks!’ Several people broke into fits of disbelieving laughter.

Oh Merlin. Someone kill me now. Please. Just do it.

The broomstick floated closer, daring me to ride it.

‘Rose Weasley? Riddikulus, remember? Just picture what you want it to turn into in your mind, very clearly.’ Professor Valencia said slowly, eyes concerned. Great. Now she’s going to think I’m some idiot who can’t even banish a Boggart.

‘Riddikulus!’ I squeaked, wand shaking so hard it was an indistinct blur. Nothing happened.

‘Arghh!’ I screamed. I really couldn’t help it. The broomstick was beginning to emit a strange, unearthly wailing noise, like a thousand violins being played by utter amateurs. ‘Fuck it -’ I used Elisha as a shield, shuddering. ‘MAKE IT FUCKING GO WAY!’

‘Rose’s afraid of brooms!’ someone else announced. As if they didn’t already know.

The broomstick’s twigs twisted around and started going for my throat. ‘OH MERLIN.’ I screamed and started firing off every defense spell I knew. ‘IMPEDIMENTA! AVIS! RICTUMSEMPRA! GLISSEO--’ I had simply forgotten that all of these spells would be utterly useless in defending oneself against a Boggart.

‘Goodness.’ Professor Valencia stepped in front of me and the broomstick started shrinking, turning into something else. I couldn’t see what it had turned into, but Professor Valencia used some spell to shove it back into the cupboard where it well and truly belonged.

Silence fell, save for the inane laughter and guffaws of the boys. To my total and utter humiliation, even Fred, Dobby and Albus were trying their very hardest not to collapse into hysterical laughter. Even Elisha was looking at me all funny.

Shaking and chattering, I turned on my heels and sprinted out of the DADA classroom.

Well, there goes my last shred of dignity.

Author's Note: Now, I would appreciate it greatly if you would leave me a little review... ;) Hope you guys enjoyed it! Sorry for the long wait, this was unexpectedly tough to write :/ I guess I'm not really good at HP fanfics. Damn.